Family Stability
by Valkyrie War Cry
Summary: Snow and Emma finally reach a place of mutual acceptance for their respective roles of mother and daughter. Once expectations are acknowledged, mistakes are forgiven and comfort is unconditional. Warning: contains talk of spanking of an adult woman.


Note: Just a small glimpse at one of the ways Snow and Emma's relationship as parent and child could go. I don't have any plans to add more to this, but I may write additional stories along the same vein later. All mistakes are my own. I don't own Once Upon a Time.

Warning: Contains talk of spanking of an adult woman.

* * *

><p>Family Stability<p>

Once, Snow made Emma sit in the corner after a punishment. She had positioned a bar stool in the corner next to the dining room table and told Emma to park her butt on it. However, Emma must have tapped into her reserve supply of defiance because, instead of doing as she was told, Emma had given Snow a look in response that suggested she mistakenly had heard her mother say they were eating Chimera for dinner. Since Snow's patience had long since run out, she steered her daughter to the stool with one hand on Emma's arm as the other hand smacked her daughter's still-bare and extremely red bottom. This elicited several mild expletives from Emma, followed by a verbal agreement to stay on the stool until Snow gave her permission to get up.

Recalling that unpleasant experience, which had entailed much squirming and a fresh wave of tears, Emma breathed out a sigh of relief when Snow pointed her to the same now-_empty_ corner for twenty minutes of standing-up "corner time." Emma's eyes had dried of tears, and her butt burned in a way she deemed more annoying than painful, so she obeyed her mother with no fuss. After pulling her black t-shirt down as far as it would stretch (not quite far enough to cover her ass, but it sufficiently hid her front), she walked quickly to the designated spot in the dining area. She positioned herself close to the walls with her nose pointing in and her hands behind her head (which raised the hem of her shirt up, much to Emma's frustration.)

As soon as Snow double checked her daughter's position, she started the timer on her cell phone to count down twenty minutes. The wooden spoon used to chastise Emma was placed back in its drawer next the other serving and cooking utensils, and once the drawer slammed shut, Snow did her best to push aside her guilt for being so unyielding during her daughter's punishment. She searched the refrigerator for the ingredients for that evening's dinner, while she silently continued to rationalize her decision to spank her grown daughter with a wooden spoon.

(At least she hadn't struck her with the hard, leather sole of a slipper, as her own mother had once done in response to nine year-old Snow storming out of a history lesson with a particularly backwards-thinking tutor. If she hadn't been faced with the choice between sitting appropriately during supper and receiving another spanking before bed, Snow would not have so much as _touched_ a chair for at least a full day following her punishment.)

Anxiety crept upon her as she struggled to control her shaking hands, which washed the chicken cutlets she planned to serve for dinner. In a weak attempt to quiet her mind, she focused on going through the motions of lining a cooking pan with tin foil before basting the cutlets in lemon and herb sauce. Once the chicken was in the oven, she turned to the vegetables strewn about the counter. Now, if a few tears leaked out of her green eyes, she could blame the onions on the cutting board.

She was giving herself more grief than she deserved, as Charming would say. Charming, who was raised on a farm with two loving, yet strict, parents (for a while, at least) worlds away from Snow's spoiled upbringing. Charming, who understood the clear, thick lines between parent and child. Charming, who expected their estranged daughter to accept her role on the opposite side of the line after she lived for thirty years without the ability to acknowledge the existence of such a thing.

Charming also hadn't ever witnessed Snow's firm hand in action, nor had he ever been tasked with directly bringing tears to their child's eyes or with keeping the woman's (Yes, woman. Not little girl. Not young lady. Grown _woman._) hands from straying back to rub the sting out of a bottom that was so, so red.

At this thought, Snow's eyes once again strayed to Emma, and she admitted to herself that the bottom facing her was not nearly as red as the image conjured in her mind. A sliver of her guilt ebbed away. She returned to chopping up the veggies for a salad, noting that her phone read ten minutes left on the timer.

Aside from reflecting on negative emotions, Snow let her thoughts stray to that _other territory, _that space between this life and her previous young adulthood, where Emma fits at first in her womb and then in the cradle of her arms before growing to stretch out in a toddler-sized bed, followed by dresses that frequently visit the seamstress for lengthening. Snow truly didn't know if this would have been a permanent method of punishment in the royal household had Emma been raised with her parents. She was loathe to think that perhaps a nanny would have been in charge of such things, but if the curse had not taken effect, the time for hands-on parenting may have been short because war was imminent.

But it filled her heart with a selfish kind of warmth to glance up at the corner of her apartment and replace it with the corner of the royal bedchamber. For a minute, Snow saw a scrawny, gangly preteen fidgeting, her messy blonde curls breaking free from a loose braid, while her hands held her dress up around her waist.

Then, self-hatred descended upon her again when she silently remarked to herself how much _easier _this current moment would be if they'd just had some (any, all) mother-daughter foundation from which to draw.

There are expectations here, which normally would frighten Emma to the point of flight, but in this place—her parents' apartment—mistakes are among those expectations. And forgiveness is, too. And it's that certainty—that guarantee of progress, trying harder next time, and always having a spot in this enduring family—that keeps her rooted in the corner.

This corner was so different from others she had stared at during her childhood. The red and white bricks didn't trap her. Instead, they held her snuggly, securely, as she grappled with her mistakes and accepted the chance to leave all the negative things associated with that in this corner once she left it, ready for a fresh start.

This corner was filled with frustration, yes, and with exhaustion, absolutely. But it wasn't filled with hopelessness. Not with desperation. Never with _fear_. She wasn't going to be abandoned here for hours at a time (Emma steered her mind away from those deeply buried memories of being shoved in closets or bedrooms or the backseats of cars.) Because she could feel the presence of her mother behind her. She could hear the rustling of pots and pans. She could feel the love surrounding her and filling both their heart.

The timer let out a shrill beeping, and both women jumped in surprise.

"You're done, sweetheart," Snow called.

Emma turned immediately, and their green eyes locked.

Snow must have looked more woeful than Emma had several minutes ago because her daughter crossed the apartment and initiated a hug, wrapping her arms fully around Snow as she buried her head on Snow's shoulder against her neck.

"I'm sorry. Really," she said, her words slightly mumbled against Snow's shoulder. _I still love you_, is what Snow hears. Emma squeezes a little tighter. _Tell me you still love me, too._

"You're forgiven," her mother replied, returning the squeeze before kissing Emma's head. _I will always love you_, is what Snow hopes she conveys.

After several seconds of silence, Emma pulled out of the hug first, which didn't surprise Snow one bit. The blonde grabbed a glass and filled it with water, not speaking again until it was completely drained.

"I'll let you finish cooking. I'm gonna grab some paperwork that I might be able to finish before you're done," Emma called as she turned to head for the stairs.

"Alright," Snow responded before she looked up just in time to see her daughter's naked butt scamper up to her room. "Emma, don't forget to put some pants on! The boys will be home soon!" she yelled quickly.

She heard Emma laugh before her daughter answered, "Whoops, I almost forgot! I'll come grab my clothes in a minute."

Soon after the comment, Emma returned to the first floor of the apartment, now clad in loose-fitting sweatpants. She set a small stack of manila-folders down on the counter above the kitchen sink before she searched the couch for her skinny jeans, socks, and underwear from earlier that day. After sticking the clothing in the bathroom hamper, Emma went to stand in front of the counter, intending to finish her paperwork standing up.

Snow tried to hide her smile as she finished prepping dinner. When she set aside her remorse wistful thoughts, she could acknowledge how whole she felt at times like these. Before the curse broke, Mary Margaret had always been aware of the empty feeling in her heart, as if something had been taken from her, but she couldn't recall what. Her cursed self had been desperate to find love in any capacity, yet her efforts had not been successful until Emma came to town. Opening her apartment door to the blonde stranger had kick-started the process of reuniting with her family. Snow was glad Emma seemed to have the same intuition she had about starting a friendship.

"What's got you so smiley?" Emma asked.

"I'm just grateful we're together," she replied, lifting her eyes to smile at her daughter.

"Even when I'm…causing trouble?" the blonde hesitated before finishing her sentence. Her knitted brows conveyed her skepticism.

Snow reached for Emma's hand and squeezed it reassuringly when she spoke next.

"Yes, Emma, especially then. We're family, and we love unconditionally. There are no limits to my love for you. I'll always be here."

While Snow was still overcoming her grief for the life she lost in the other realm, she was happy with the life she had now in Storybrooke. Being able to look up at the barstool and see her beautiful, stubborn, resilient, and grown daughter with her own eyes was more than enough to let Snow know that her current life was a gift.

And Emma still needed Snow. She loved her, and accepted her as her mother. That Emma could accept punishment from her mother and still be reassured that it was done out of love—that Emma could accept a hug afterward—it filled Snow with the determination to never forget that her family was whole, even after all the hell they'd fought through to be together and stay together. This was where they belonged.

* * *

><p>Review if you'd like!<p> 


End file.
